Memories of Fire and Snow
by A. Linnea Elindor
Summary: Harry remembers the cold. A companion piece to Red Sparks


Title: Memories of Fire and Snow

Author: A. Linnea Elindor (Jillian)

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: Harry and Ron belong to J.K. Rowling.  Definite slashiness here.  

Summary: Harry remembers the cold

Note: I got such positive feedback from Red Sparks, THANK YOU SO MUCH!! I'm so glad you enjoyed it!  I was sitting here attempting to study, but I read the same sentence 4 times over and figured I should write this or else I'd never concentrate.  Again, would love to hear you guys' thoughts!  Enjoy!

I never knew how cold I was until I met him.  Never knew how lonely and broken and how cold I was until he was there.  When I faltered, he would catch me around my shoulders and made it look like he pat me on the back too hard.  When I was frustrated, he would praise me, or commiserate in grand, self-deprecating fashion.  When I fell into despair, he would wrap his long arms around me and press me against his chest.  The warmth of his skin would permeate me, like a warm summer wind that wiped every thought out of your mind, and it would be then that I would really notice it.  The chill that threatened to freeze my heart, the ice that slivered my veins like a serrated knife would throb like some forgotten limb just remembered.  I would feel his warmth and remember how I had none.  

I must admit, I had been absolutely off my head that night.  The chill of Lavender's pale gold wine, the chill of isolation made me hungry for his warmth.  I suppose in the back of my mind, the part that was still relatively functional, I expected a struggle, a fight.  I was pushing the boundaries of our friendship to the breaking point.  But then, both of us were awfully drunk.  I pressed my lips against his, cinnamon and coal strangely awash on my tongue as I drew in his warmth like a vampire.  The steady heat, like bath water, rolled over my skin and as I stretched lower on his body, brushing feathery kisses across the thin stretch of flesh beneath his hips, I could feel Ron tense up, his fingers grasping the covers of his bed.  His eyes were closed, his breathing still, his skin pink and burning.  I ran my hands down his thighs, and stretched back like a cat, extending back out, running my tongue over him, tasting his spices and finally, wrapping my hand around him.

His skin lit up like a thousand stars and his eyes snapped open, burning bronze and gold.  He pulled me down and under him before I could count the shades of copper in his hair, and began to devour me utterly.  Ages passed and I could feel his tongue touch me in places that didn't exist; I could feel strings of magic being plucked like a symphony, the music and the magic dancing behind my vision.  Wherever he touched burned raw and delicate, and he seemed to be sucking the very life out of me.  He stopped suddenly, I can remember, and pushed himself onto his knees.  His hair danced like slow fire in a warm breeze, his skin burned with red sparks.  He looked at me like I was a precious treasure that he had just discovered, and all I could see were the stars glittering faintly in the depths of his eyes.  He swept his thumb across my forehead tenderly, my body shivering from the sweat that covered me, and the cold within.  He trailed his right hand down my face, his fingertips glowing brighter and brighter.  He set that hand over my heart and it burned.  I could feel, not the steady warmth, but the full flame as it ravaged me from the inside and I'd have screamed, I'd have died, was it not for his lips.  The kiss, now tender and loving instead of consuming and blinding, spread through my body like a waterfall of pleasure, and I couldn't decide whether I'd die from the fire in my heart or the bliss in my body.  Something broke through me, a wall I never knew existed crumbling like dust, and I wanted to **_live_**.  I could feel his essence, his magic tangle into me and I wanted him to paint every inch, every edge, every nerve with the red fire of his magic.  The pain and the pleasure died steadily and all I could hear was a heartbeat, steady and strong.  The kiss broke- I couldn't tell you how long I had been without oxygen: days, months, an eternity?- and he seem to drift to the bed in slow motion.  He wrapped his arms around me, the warmth pounding through my heart dancing at his touch, and he spoke with a voice like the tolling of bells at midnight.  Deep and soulful, his voice seemed to resound in my chest.  The words were unfamiliar, but the music I understood- it was love and it was thanks and it was contentment and it was a promise.  

His hand holds me, holds my heart, like the embrace of a soul mate.  I touch the bitter February snow on the grass, and some part of me faintly remembers what it was like to be this cold.


End file.
